Y is for youth…

'Why did I agree to this...' Porthos grunted, sighing deeply. 'And on my day off too.'

'Could be worse,' d'Artagnan shrugged as he stood beside him inside the training area at the garrison, mercifully empty of anyone else. 'You could be stuck in a dingy back alley bar, drinking the day away into oblivion.' He quirked an eyebrow to the larger man, who gave him a knowing grin. The grin soon subsided, however, as they heard a sudden cacophony of screams, yells and voices erupt out of seemingly nowhere. They scrunched their eyes up as they were suddenly under attack by the swarm of colours and voices. Yet this wasn't war, this wasn't even a practice. No, this was worse, much worse.

It was children.

'Alright, alright!' Porthos shouted amid the din of excitable, pint sized boys and girls as they clamoured excitedly around the two of them. 'Calm down then!' The noise only seemed to worsen, however, as the gabble turned rapidly into a rabble as they all fought to get a better look. Porthos could feel irritation rising but he swallowed it down. 'Kids, kids!' He shouted again, raising his voice as he fought to keep control- he spied Treville, along with Athos and Aramis behind the pack of children as they made their way to the Captain's office, each trying to suppress a small smile.

He'd agreed to this; he had to do something... 'SHUT UP!' He finally yelled- the sudden silence was deafening. He looked across to d'Artagnan with a worried look on his face.

'Too heavy?' He muttered.

'Maybe a little.'

'...did the job though.'

'Oh yes, very efficient.'

'Hmm...' Porthos murmured, before looking at the children, wondering where the hell to begin.

It was Aramis who had originally offered the idea of letting children into the Garrison for a day to "have a taste of life as a Musketeer". Conveniently he then had prior engagements, as did Athos, yet the Captain loved the idea...this left d'Artagnan and Porthos in the frame. Porthos didn't mind kids as such, he just liked them in small doses. As for d'Artagnan, he was still a lad himself, and was perfect to connect with the young up and coming soldiers of the future.

After a talk with Constance about their plans suddenly turned heated when he'd mentioned that only boys would be invited, d'Artagnan soon had to make the Captain swear to allow girls into the group- it was unorthodox, especially as they wouldn't be the soldiers of tomorrow, yet many had answered their invitation and were stood before them now, their hair tied and their boots freshly scrubbed.

Porthos was quite pleased with the turnout. He smiled warmly at them as they started to whisper again, staring up at the two of them in their uniforms. 'Right.' He boomed, causing a few of the younger ones at the front to back away a little. 'Well, thanks for coming- so you're all here cos you want to be musketeers?'

A little girl raised her hand, eyes narrowed. 'Sir, girls can't be musketeers. Should we go?'

'First of all, please don't call me sir.' Porthos muttered, feeling his face heat a little. 'You don't have to go anywhere- just cos you can't be a musketeer doesn't mean you can't see what it's like to be one.'

'And besides, the bravest person I know happens to be a lady.' D'Artagnan cut in, smiling as he thought of Constance. 'You stay right where you are- I bet you girls could show us boys a thing or two.' He added, feeling his heart lift as all the girls in the group smiled broadly at each other, nodding at the boys and sticking their tongues out at them.

'Right- shall we get going then?' Porthos asked, rubbing his hands. 'Why don't we start with some sparring? Then we could-'

'Swords!' The group suddenly erupted, looking around excitedly. 'Where's the swords? Can we have them?!'

'Quiet!' Porthos growled, hiding a smile. 'I think you're all a little young for metal...' He muttered, before grabbing a pile of wooden sticks, cut down to kid-sizes, and handed d'Artagnan some. 'You'll be using these.' He said, smiling as he handed them out to some rather dejected looking children.

'Come on, buck up!' D'Artagnan grinned, passing out the rest. 'Every musketeer learnt by using these- you think we just joined and knew how to fight?' He added, stepping back as the kids started swinging the wooden sticks around.

'Right- everyone get into pairs, and each pair stand opposite the other!' Porthos yelled, and everyone sprang to attention. He ducked a stick that had been swung a little high, and carefully stepped round so he could see everyone.

'Right- now everyone take four steps backwards!' He smiled as everyone did as they were told.

'This is easy enough...' He whispered to d'Artagnan, who nodded his agreement.

'Ok- now everyone...on my command, engage your partner in a match. Keep your sticks low and your hits weak!' He shouted,looking around. 'No whacking each other around the head!' He looked up to see Aramis and Athos grinning broadly down at them, leaning their elbows on the wooden fence atop their elevated position. Porthos rolled his shoulders and clicked his neck- he'd show them that he and the lad could deal with kids with no issues...

'Right- go!' He called, his eyes widening suddenly as each child gave a sudden, high pitched war cry and launched themselves at each other, wildly batting at each other with the sticks.

'Careful! Careful!' He called, alarm coursing through him. 'Light hits!' He looked across at d'Artagnan, who had jumped back as a stick came his way.

'Look at your techniques!' He called, before realising he and Porthos hadn't actually taught them any...in fact, now he came to think about it, they hadn't taught them much at all.

'Maybe we should have explained footwork first?' He called, before groaning as he heard Aramis whooping and shouting encouragement to individual children as they fought, a broad grin on his face.

'Maybe disciple, chivalry?' He added, before wincing as a larger boy with brutish strength suddenly whacked his shoulder with the stick. 'Careful!' He chastised, before picking up a forgotten stick- 'look, how about we work on your foot-' he had hardly got his sentence out when the boy flew at him, stick raised. It was all he could do to protect his face as he managed to get his own stick up in time.

'Not at the face!' He growled, before getting low, meeting the boy's stance as he stood back, chuckling as others joined him in front of the young musketeer. 'Come on then, let's see what you've got!' He smiled, before he suddenly realised he had made a very big mistake as the boy puffed himself up, eyes alight with a sudden...something. Evilness, d'Artagnan decided- he was proved right seconds later, letting out a small cry of alarm as five ten year olds suddenly launched themselves at him, sticks- as well as fists- flying everywhere.

'Porthos!' He yelped from the ground as he was climbed on by the children, all screaming out battle cries and french curses. 'A little help!' He internally groaned as he heard Aramis burst into laughter, before groaning for real as he felt a small foot suddenly kick in a very precious place.

'Coming, lad!' He heard the bigger musketeer shout back, but seconds later he heard a whoop of dispersed air and a strangled yelp before Porthos too was dragged to the sand, arms suddenly full of wriggling children.

'Kids, kids! Stop a minute!' He heard him shout, his eyes wide as now the girls were jumping all over him, laughing at the challenge. 'Why aren't you doing as you're told?!'

'This is just great!' D'Artagnan growled, desperately trying to move himself upwards so he could at least stand up. They had to get control back somehow...

'ENOUGH!' The shout was strong, loud and was made to be obeyed. Every child stopped what they were doing and looked round, eyes wide.

'Well.' The Musketeer in front of them said, eyes narrowed and voice dark. 'I have never seen a rabble as loud and disobedient as you.' He stood with his hands behind his back, his booted foot tapping on the sand. 'Stand up, all of you.' He commanded, withholding a small smile as each child scrambled up at once, lining to attention. Porthos and d'Artagnan gingerly stood, wincing a little at blooming bruises on their chests as they stretched. They looked up at Athos, who, with a tiny minute shake of his head in their direction, looked back at the children.

'Musketeers are known for their bravery, their comradeship- and their discipline. This is what you must learn first.' He said, voice strong and commanding. 'My men know what is expected of them- now you will all run around this area five time, before coming back to stand exactly where you are now. Go!' He called, before stepping back as each child began their run.

He sniffed as he came to a stop next to the other two, before smiling across at Aramis as he too joined them. 'Well, remind us next time not to put you two down as teachers for the new recruits.' He muttered, giving each of them a look.

'But Athos they were...strong.'

'They're ten.'

'Strong ten year olds...'

'I can't believe they got you both to the ground-'

'Hey, we didn't have sticks!'

'...you're really going to go with that as an excuse?'

'What did you want us to do, hit them back?' D'Artagnan reasoned, massaging his ribs.

'I expected you to raise your voices a few notches.' Athos shrugged, arching an eyebrow at Aramis as he stifled a laugh. 'You practically let them roll all over you.'

'How did you do that?' Porthos asked, sidestepping the embarrassment.

'Do what?'

'Y'know...make them do as you told them.'

'Its called having a strong voice.' Athos remarked, before looking back. He sighed and pursed his lips, before looking at the position of the sun in the sky. 'I wonder how many laps we can get them to do before it's time for them to go home?'

'Well,' Aramis muttered, smiling as he watched them run. 'I'd say at least twenty more.'

'You think?'

'Oh, absolutely.'

''D'artagnan, Porthos- go fetch some pitches of water and some bread for them for when they're done.' He ordered, before he and Aramis turned back to the kids.

'Come on then, keep your knees up!' He called, before he and Aramis started running with them for encouragement, barking orders as they went.

'Give me war any day...' Porthos muttered to the younger musketeer as they slowly walked back into the confines of the mess hall, each massaging their aching muscles as they went.

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